


Come Home With Me

by arewedancers



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, But the turn around of 2012, M/M, Think 2012, With a smidge of hope at the end, it's sad, just sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:48:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4990876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arewedancers/pseuds/arewedancers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil left a year ago and Dan finally asks him why.<br/>Angsty as hell but it gets a little hopeful at the end.<br/>Read the story to find out more.<br/>No one dies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Home With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I swear to god if they ever see this I will literally die  
> I am ashamed of myself  
> But not enough to not write it.
> 
>  
> 
> Also it may not be your cup of tea, you may not think it's good. That's fine. Just don't tell me. Unless you do it in a constructive way. 
> 
> I probably made mistakes. I wrote this at 2 in the morning. Sorry in advance.

The room is crowded with Youtubers, from the big to the small. It’s an event meant to welcome everyone in the Youtube community together, as long as you have a few hundred thousand subscribers of course. Even John Green isn’t so generous as to allow everyone in.  
I’m standing in the corner, like I’m known to do at parties, having been dragged along by Chris and PJ. They finally convinced me to go when they mentioned how many other Youtubers would be there, and even they knew that was a mistake, but it got me out of the house so they pretended like it was ok. Needless to say, I was surprised I was even invited, given how little I’ve been on Youtube these days. I considered, and still am considering, deleting my channel. I have nothing left to say anymore. Surprisingly, I’ve only lost a few hundred followers, at most, even though I’ve barely posted anything all year. Other than Chris and PJ, my followers have been the only people really supporting me through everything. I guess that’s what’s keeping me there. I don’t have it in me to drag my followers along through my misery for a year, before finally dropping them. They deserve to see where this ends.  
Speaking of those who stuck around, I don’t know where PJ and Chris have gotten to, they left soon after they realized I wouldn’t be moving. I feel guilty, I don’t want to ruin their time, but I guess that’s what they get for bringing me along. Occasionally they come back over, check on me, hand me a drink. I joke that they’re trying to get my drunk, and they laugh. I joke that they don’t have to try because this is the first time I’ve been properly sober all year. They don’t laugh at that. They just take my drink away and stop bringing me anymore. That’s what I get for trying to be funny. You can’t be funny when you’re supposed to be sad. It comes out sounding wrong, way to serious, sometimes even borderline dangerous.  
Louise wanders over after what’s felt like hours of being on my own, she asks me quite pleasantly how I’ve been. She smells like vanilla, a scent that’s suffocating to me.  
I stopped talking to her early on, and since she has a family, she didn’t have time to stop by like PJ and Chris, so we haven’t spoken in awhile. I almost hate her for it, but I can’t blame her.  
“I’m good.” I smile.  
“No you’re not.”  
I shake my head, looking down at my shoes. “No, I’m not. I won’t be. Ever.” She stands for a moment longer, places a soft hand on my shoulder. She has bangles on her arm and they clink together softly when she moves. It’s comforting, having her there, but even she knows I’m right. I won’t be ok. When she has nothing to say, she finally moves on. Chris and PJ come back almost immediately, try to convince me to dance. I refuse so they stop trying. I was wondering when they would stop trying.  
“Dan!” A smiling, drunk, Tyler stumbles over, placing both hands on my shoulders. Grin lopsided, hair a mess, cheeks pink, he resembles a cherub. “How’reyou?” Slurred versions of words I keep hearing. He reeks of alcohol.  
“Absolute shit.” I respond, knowing he won’t remember me ever saying it.  
“Pooooorbabbyy.” He whines, patting my cheek. “We’llfiindyouabetteronee.” One last pat before he’s stumbling off to the next victim. I cringe when he trips, chuckle when he gets back up, and wonder when I’ll get to leave. Quite suddenly, I feel eyes watching me, my skin prickling, a feeling I’m use to. Being alone in an empty flat, you get use to feeling like something is watching you. More often than not, it isn’t true. I look up anyway, eyebrows furrowed.  
Brown eyes meet blue and it feels like all the wind has been knocked out of my body.  
A year ago Phil left, but today he looks the same. Beautiful and handsome, a combination I’m sure only he can pull off. We lock eyes and the universe aligns, and as cheesy as it sounds I’m reminded again that he is my soul mate, and somehow I lost him. He tilts his head at me, questioningly. I’m finally given the answer I’ve so desperately been searching for. No. He hasn’t forgotten about me. My feet move before I can tell them to as I walk across the dance floor. Slowly, almost as if in a trance, I push past the people around me, but one voice stops me.  
“DAN!” PJ yells, catching my wrist. The music is so loud my ears are throbbing and my teeth are clacking. I’m half hearing, half reading his lips. “WHERE ARE YOU GOING? DID YOU COME TO DANCE?” He looks almost hopefully, his curly hair dripping sweat.  
“NO!” I nod at the glass doors. “I NEED SOME AIR! BE BACK IN A BIT!” I shake my arm and ignore the flash of pity in his eyes. I keep walking. Phil seemed to have read my mind, like he always use to. We were like two halves of the same person, of course he knows where to go. I slide the glass doors apart and smell the grass, freshly cut. Feel the cool breeze on my sweaty skin. Hear the sound of distant cars and noisy bugs.  
“It’s chilly.” I pull the door closed behind me, hoping no one in the party can see us. My body craves to be alone with him; I don’t want anyone to interrupt.  
“It’s fall.”  
He’s standing on the wooden porch, hands on the railing, looking out into the darkness like he can see something. I walk over, quietly, place my hands beside his and marvel at the sight. Us, together, something I had only dreamed about.  
“How have you been?” I parrot, lamely, the same question I’ve heard all night. All week. All month. All year. I’m astounded that, though it isn’t the question I wanted to ask, I still want to hear the answer. I want to hear his voice and pretend that everything is normal again. In my mind we’re back at the flat, back on the couch. Our hands aren’t just beside one another, they’re intertwined together, our fingers knotted so tightly nothing could pull them apart.  
He hums to himself, his tongue poking out, contemplating the question. I’ve missed all the thought he puts into every word that comes out of his mouth. You always knew he was listening, no matter what you had to say.  
The railing is smooth beneath my hands, the wood cold. The glass of the door is rattling from the music, shaking my feet even all the way out here. I can almost see my breath when I blow it out, I can feel Phil shiver beside me, even when we aren’t touching, like his body is part of my own. You don’t forget that feeling of closeness. Not what we had.  
“That’s not what you really want to ask me.” Phil answers, after what feels like years. He turns to face me and I turn with him. “I forgot how tall you are.” He throws out a careless afterthought, reaching up to place a hand on my face; his fingers ice cold on my skin feeling so familiar on my cheek it’s like they were made to touch me.  
“Why did you ever leave?” The question rushes out of me in one cold breath, like it was waiting on him to grant permission for it to leave.  
“Because I love you.” His answer is short and sweet, but the kiss that follows is long and hungry. Even after a year, our mouths fit together like they always use to. He pulls me down by a hand that traveled to my neck somewhere between why and love.  
“You don’t leave someone you love.” I gasp between kissing his face, from his forehead to his lips. I taste every inch of skin and it’s salty from sweat and sweet from longing. Something I haven’t tasted in far to long. Like water after a drought, I’ve been in a desert, and I’ve finally found my stream.  
“You do when they need it.”  
I kiss his cheek.  
“You never came back.”  
I kiss his nose.  
“I’m coming back now.”  
I kiss his lips. Long and slow. Hands tangling in his hair, fingers pulling until he moans. We break apart, but our foreheads stay together, our hands find each other, and our fingers interlock. I thought, foolishly, that nothing could ever break our fingers apart. Now I know that all it takes is a little mistrust, jealous, hurt feelings. Yells and broken glasses, a note with only a handful of words, all these things lead to a year of broken hearts and fingers that were broken from the force of it all.  
“You can’t just walk back in my life. You left. You don’t get to just come back. You left.” I’m crying; wet tears warm on my face. I sound like a broken record, a lying one at that. He can just come back. I want him back more than anything. That’s the unfair part of life. People can break you into a million pieces, and say it was all for you, and you’ll believe them.  
Phil is petting my hair, whispering words that I don’t listen to, and the party continues on behind us. I pull back, drag in a breath of air, and ask him if he’ll come home with me tonight. God, please, come home with me tonight.


End file.
